Lisa Shearin - The Trouble With Demons

Justinius Valerian’s eyes never left mine, but they changed focus, and I felt the barest hint of the power that’d earned him his title. He was seeing me inside and out. Again. It was the type of seeing that’d earn any other magic user the business end of my fist. But until I could get rid of the rock and my umi’atsu bond with Tam and Mychael, I was what I was. There was no changing it or escaping it.

The archmagus’s bright blue eyes were hard as agates as he looked from me to Mychael and back again.

“You’ve protected her,” Justinius said.

“Yes, sir. I did.” Mychael’s voice, like his resolve, was unwavering.

I tried to pull a little air into my lungs past the sudden lump in my throat. To anyone listening, the archmagus was merely pointing out that the paladin was doing his job-not that he’d linked himself to the Saghred’s bond servant to keep her from being consumed by an umi’atsu bond.

The old man nodded once. “And you did what you had to do.”

“I did, sir.”

Justinius paused. “You’re protecting the other one, too.”

I knew who he meant. Tam. I also knew the reason Justinius didn’t say his name out loud wasn’t due to any prejudice that Tam was a goblin, or distaste that he was a dark mage. Even though the other people in the room listening were probably trusted ears, the old man was smart; he didn’t get and keep his job by taking chances.

“I thought it necessary.” Mychael paused. “And worthwhile,” he added with quiet conviction.

Damned smoky fireplaces, making my eyes water.

Justinius kept his eyes on Mychael. The only sound was the pop and crackle of the burning wood.

“You’re going to need help, son,” Justinius said in Mychael’s mind. “And soon.”

Since Mychael heard it, I heard it. And Justinius knew it. He’d meant it for both of us-for all of us.

“I know, sir,” Mychael responded.

Mychael had gone leagues beyond his job and the old man and I both knew it. No one else needed to. And Justinius Valerian wasn’t going to tell them. I had to resist the overpowering urge to hug the old man’s neck. I settled for taking my first decent breath in five minutes and giving Justinius the slightest nod of gratitude. If the old man had blinked, he’d have missed it. He didn’t miss it.

“You’re looking well, sir,” I said.

Justinius smiled slyly. “And feeling better than I look.”

I didn’t move my head, but my eyes indicated the healer and two Guardians.

“Other than Mychael here, those are the three people on this island that I trust the most,” Justinius told me. “Hugh and Farold have been my personal bodyguards since I took this miserable job, and Dalis does more than just look good. She’s my eyes and ears outside the citadel. If I need to know information, Dalis knows where to find it and who to ask.”

Piaras had been standing there the entire time in complete confusion and stunned disbelief.

I said what I knew he wanted to. “You faked an assassination attempt.” I kept my voice calm and level; it wasn’t easy, but I managed. And I didn’t ask it as a question; it was obvious to anyone with working eyes that Justinius Valerian wasn’t going to his great reward anytime soon. I was sure the old man had a perfectly good reason for his little charade, but that didn’t change the fact that Piaras had gone through a living hell thinking that he’d killed Justinius. Taltek Balmorlan had tried to trick Piaras into signing a confession. The inquisitor wanted a legal way to take Piaras off the island, and trying to kill Justinius had given him just what he needed. He’d damned near gotten away with it-and Piaras.

The old man pulled himself up on his pillows. It took more than a little effort, and I almost felt a twinge of guilt. “I faked nothing. I knew I was being attacked and I protected myself. Some of that spellsong got through; most of it didn’t. I’ve waited years for this chance.”

“For what? To lay in bed and let Carnades run amok?” My voice felt the need to snap, and I let it. The old man-or his twin Guardian behemoths-would probably make me regret it, but right now I was more angry than smart.

“To lay in bed and watch my enemies slither out of hiding,” he said smoothly. “Thanks to that goblin trying to spellsing me to death, I’m finding out who my enemies really are.” A shadow of pain that wasn’t physical flowed across his face. The old man had been betrayed and he was hurting. “It’s been an eye-opening experience.”

There had been another attempt on Justinius’s life on my and Piaras’s first day on the island. “The Nightshades at the welcoming ceremony,” I murmured.

Justinius nodded once.

Nightshades were elves-they were also assassins, kidnappers, blackmailers, or whatever they had been given enough gold to do. You pay and they’ll play. And someone had given them enough gold to try to kill the archmagus and Mychael. I had a feeling Justinius now had a couple more names on his list of enemies.

I was still mad at the old man, but I had to admire the simple beauty of his plan. “Nothing flushes out predators like wounded prey,” I said.

The old man’s eyes flashed dangerously as he brushed his finger past the tip of his nose, confirming my theory.

I looked at Mychael. “You didn’t tell me.” I glanced at Piaras. “Or us.” I know the kid had to feel betrayed; I was getting used to it.

“It was necessary that information not leave this room.” That was the paladin talking, not Mychael. “For his own safety, I can’t allow the archmagus to leave this room until he is physically and magically recovered.”

“One sign of weakness and Carnades would claim he was still incapacitated,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“What he means is that I can’t leave this room until I can kick Carnades’s lily-white, patrician ass,” Justinius said. “I’ve told Mychael here that I just have to be strong enough for one kick.” He grinned evilly. “I’ll get it right the first time.”

I didn’t doubt that. Secrecy was critical for the old man’s plan to work, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I didn’t, and neither did Piaras. But any hurt, disappointment, or anything else he felt was well hidden.

“Archmagus Valerian, I am glad you were not seriously injured,” Piaras said. He looked at Mychael uncertainly, and kept his voice down. “Sir, is my being here a good idea?”

Piaras didn’t mean hearing something he shouldn’t, though I was questioning the wisdom of that. Piaras didn’t want Sarad Nukpana to suddenly possess him and compel him to kill the old man for real this time-or feel a sudden urge to go running to Carnades and blurt out the old man’s plan.

“It’s necessary,” Mychael told him. “And you don’t need to be concerned.” He looked at Justinius and a quick, unspoken communication passed between them.

The old man muttered a rather crude obscenity. Mychael had just relayed what Sarad Nukpana was up to: the Scythe of Nen or Piaras’s sanity.

“Hugh, Farold,” Justinius said to the Guardians by the door.

“Since Mychael’s here, why don’t the two of you take a break.

Say half an hour. Dalis, you, too.”

The Guardians immediately did as ordered; the healer gave him an openly disapproving look.

“Dalis,” Justinius said with surprising gentleness. “I’m quite well, and perfectly safe.”

The healer reluctantly left with the Guardians, who closed the door behind them.

The archmagus regarded Piaras in silence for a few squirm-inducing moments. It took everything Piaras had not to run out after the old man’s bodyguards. Not for fear of the archmagus, though no doubt Piaras thought the old man was just as scary as Sarad Nukpana, maybe more. Piaras was afraid of what Nukpana might suddenly make him do.